


Apostrophe S

by dogpoet



Series: Punctuation [4]
Category: Lewis - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Sushi, punctuation, purple boxers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet/pseuds/dogpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He and Hathaway belonged to each other, didn’t they? The way he’d been Val’s, and she’d been his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apostrophe S

**Author's Note:**

> If you are reading this on a reader, please be warned that the conversion process eliminates symbols, such as ampersands, which are crucial to the poem. I have notified the AO3 support team, but at present, it is still an issue.
> 
>  
>
>> Beta by [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/simoneallen/profile)[**simoneallen**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/simoneallen/)
>> 
>> Fourth in the [Punctuation Series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/8192).

Who ate sushi? It was nothing but rice and bits of raw fish! Lewis had had it before, and he hated it. Lyn was always after him to eat better — less fat — that was the only reason he’d agreed. And because Hathaway liked it. Lewis stared at the colourful rolls in the takeaway container and thought wistfully of chips. It had been a long day of interviewing everyone they could connect to the victim, except for his landlord. That would have to wait until tomorrow. It didn’t put one in the mood for rice and raw fish.

Beside him on the sofa, Hathaway said, “You’ll make Lyn happy.”

“Leave Lyn out of it.”

“You’ll make me happy, then,” Hathaway said, leaning over to kiss Lewis’s mouth. Then his ear.

Lewis let himself be distracted for a minute before pulling away, grabbing a pair of chopsticks, and gesturing with them. “And these things.”

He watched Hathaway open his own pair of chopsticks, rub them confidently against one another, then pick up one of the pieces of sushi.

“Try this one.” Hathaway held the sushi out with his chopsticks.

“I can feed meself.”

“Just try it,” Hathaway insisted.

Lewis opened his mouth. Felt the texture of rice on his tongue. He chewed. “That one was all right,” he said. “Oh, don’t look like that.” He watched Hathaway eating, handling his chopsticks like he’d been born with them in his hand. Lewis tried to follow his example with no success, and finally picked the bloody things up with his fingers.

“When’s Italy?” Hathaway asked after a few minutes of eating in silence.

“June 22nd.” Lyn had been sending him websites every day as she planned out where they’d go and what they’d see. He’d never been to Florence. If he lived closer to Lyn, he wouldn’t need to go to Italy to see her. Or his grandchild.

“How long?”

“A week.” Lewis placed another piece of sushi in his mouth. It was fine until he started to chew. He forced himself to swallow, but not without making a face. “Next time, leave off that one.”

“The eel?”

“Is that what I ate? An eel? What business do I have eating an eel?”

“What will I do without you?”

“Solve the case, I hope.” Innocent hadn’t bothered to assign Hathaway to anyone else during Lewis’s holiday. He’d advocated for James being fine on his own.

“That’s not what I meant.”

There were times when James seemed even younger than he was. A certain look on his face. It always stirred Lewis’s stomach, the same feeling he got when Lyn called him in tears. She was a part of him, and when she was in pain, he felt it as his own. He’d felt it during the case at Crevecoeur Hall. Hathaway hadn’t told him everything that had happened there, present or past, and Lewis hadn’t pressed for information. He only knew to tread carefully. He supposed Hathaway felt the same about him — the reason he’d worked so hard on the Chloe Brooks case.

He reached to brush a thumb across James’s jaw, then leant to kiss him. “You’ll be okay.”

Hathaway pressed close, not letting the kiss end. He set down his chopsticks, and put one hand on Lewis’s leg. This had only been going on for two days, and already Lewis knew he would miss it. Strange to be touched again like this. It had been a long time. His body almost didn’t know what to do — he’d thought it might have forgotten, but it hadn’t. Things like that came back. Riding a bicycle. James’s hand on his leg sent messages right to his groin.

This look on Hathaway’s face was new. New to Lewis, at any rate. It made his heart beat a little faster to see it. Thump, thump, thump. Funny how the body didn’t differentiate. It was all the same, male or female. Was it that way for everyone? He shuddered to think what might have happened if he’d had to turn James away. Couldn’t imagine it. Horrible. Good that he was whatever he was. Bisexual, he supposed. That’s what Hathaway had meant, but never said, when Lewis had asked. Neither one nor the other. Or he didn’t want to be defined. That was more like Hathaway, who hated being pegged a copper just as much as he hated being told he _didn’t_ look like a copper. He was always thinking back to seminary, like he’d never left it behind. Always two things. Probably what made him a good detective. Empathy with the other side.

James’s kisses had grown more demanding. His hands wandered, too, up Lewis’s thigh, his side, his neck. He pulled back, laying two fingers on the knot of Lewis’s tie. He left them there, as if asking permission.

“You need to ask?”

“Your virtue, sir,” Hathaway said, sliding fingers of both hands into the knot, and loosening it far more gently than Lewis himself would have.

Lewis made an exasperated noise and lifted his chin to make things easier. Unbuttoned the two top buttons of his shirt. When the tie was gone, Hathaway bent to kiss the revealed skin. Thump, thump, thump. Lewis took Hathaway’s hands in his, kissed the palms, inched the cuffs of his shirt up to kiss his wrists. Why was it that when someone occupied a different place in your life, how you saw them changed, too? He’d never considered James’s physical body, the way he smelled or tasted, but now he did. He closed his eyes and breathed all these things in. Felt James fall back awkwardly onto the sofa, trying to pull him after.

Lewis opened his eyes, resisting Hathaway’s pull. “What about dinner?”

“Screw dinner,” Hathaway said. He smiled crookedly.

“You’re thin enough as it is,” Lewis observed, laying his palm on Hathaway’s belly, heel of his hand hitting belt buckle.

“Mm,” Hathaway agreed, putting his hand on top of Lewis’s and pushing it lower.

Lewis had never in his life touched another man there, not through clothes, not by accident. His breath stuck in his throat and blood rushed to his face, but he didn’t move his hand. Hathaway regarded him steadily, keeping his hand where it was, pressing lightly. Then his fingers moved to unbutton Lewis’s cuff. He trailed his hand up Lewis’s arm, taking the shirt sleeve with it. The touch was electric, like a blast of cold air after being in a warm room. Lewis shivered.

What came after this? He felt naked already. How would he feel when he actually _was_ naked? He had no idea what James saw in him. Liked him from the start, hadn’t he? Why on earth? Lewis had never made sense of it.

“We don’t have to,” Hathaway said. “I could just spend the night.”

“Spend the — you want to spend the night?”

Lewis’s phone rang. He ran a hand over his face. If it was Laura with something about the case, he wouldn’t answer. He picked up the phone to check the display. Worse. It was Lyn.

“Hello, pet,” he said, moving away from Hathaway and sitting on the other end of the sofa.

“Hi, Dad, did I call at a bad time? You sound busy.”

 _Lyn_ , Lewis mouthed to Hathaway, but Hathaway was already sitting up, innocently picking up a piece of sushi.

“I was just having me dinner. Sushi.”

“Who got you to eat sushi? You hate sushi. Are you on a date?”

“James. He said you’d be happy I was eating something healthy.”

Lyn laughed. “I am. Tell him I said to take you out more often. He’s a good influence.”

Lewis cringed. If she only knew the ways Hathaway had influenced him.

“I was calling to see if you’re interested in monasteries.”

“Monasteries?” Lewis’s brain was still stuck on an image of James lying back on the sofa. In front of him, Hathaway continued to eat his sushi, watching Lewis, listening to his conversation. Lewis reached out tentatively and placed a hand on Hathaway’s back, caressing gently. He felt Hathaway lean into his hand.

“We’ve got most of the days planned, but Thursday is free. I thought we could go to San Miniato.”

Lewis pictured Lyn sitting at her kitchen table poring over a pile of guides. She’d always enjoyed reading, ever since she was a kid. Now, all grown up, bringing a life into the world. He wondered if she was starting to look different. Maybe not yet. “Whatever you like, pet.” Looking at Hathaway, he covered the phone and said softly, “San Miniato.”

Hathaway nodded. “Go.”

“James thinks we should go.”

“All right, then, it’s settled.”

Hathaway stopped eating and moved closer, curling into Lewis’s side.

“Are you on a new case?”

“This morning, yeah. We had to interview a psychic.”

“I bet you loved that.”

“He put ideas in James’s head. He told me you needn’t worry, I’ve got a long life line on me palm.”

Hathaway took Lewis’s free hand and kissed it.

Lyn laughed again. “Tell him I said more sushi and exercise, then maybe he’ll be right.”

“I will.”

“Okay, I’d better let you go. See you soon.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye.” She hung up.

Lewis disconnected the call and set his phone on the table, feeling slightly guilty for not telling Lyn what was going on in his life. He couldn’t very well do it when Hathaway was there, now, could he? He’d wait. But then what? What would Lyn say? If it had been a woman, would he have told her already? Maybe not.

“Sir?

Lewis took a moment to reply. “She thinks you’re a good influence.”

“Sushi and exercise?” He placed an open-mouthed kiss on Lewis’s neck.

“She didn’t mean that kind of exercise.”

“In that case, I promise not to do anything untoward,” Hathaway said, buttoning Lewis’s cuff back up.

“What?” Lewis asked, thinking he wouldn’t mind terribly if Hathaway did whatever he wanted to.

“If I spend the night.”

Lewis hadn’t shared his bed with anyone since Val. He hadn’t even shared a flat with anyone, unless you counted that cat. Or Diane Turnbull, that one night. Mostly, he’d been very, very alone. But Hathaway knew that, so Lewis didn’t answer. Instead, he touched James’s cheek, and kissed him, softly.

‘ ’ 

Val had been a talker — she and Lyn. She filled the spaces of an evening, and Lewis had enjoyed listening to her. Hathaway wasn’t a talker, and Lewis enjoyed their silences together. The way they sat companionably and finished their sushi (except for the eel), saying something now and then, commenting on the case or discussing the merits of palmistry, which it turned out, Hathaway knew absolutely nothing about besides how to find someone’s life line. They’d got back to the flat so late that Lewis was done in by the time they finished eating.

There was a minute of not-so-comfortable silence after Hathaway had gone out on the steps for a smoke, and they’d put the takeaway containers in the bin. Hathaway leant against one kitchen worktop, Lewis against the other. Hathaway stared at the floor.

“You fancy going to bed?” Lewis asked.

Hathaway turned pink.

“Are you _nervous_?”

“A bit.”

“Because of me?” Lewis said incredulously. He hadn’t made anyone nervous in decades. Unless it was work-related.

“What if you don’t like it? The sex.”

Lewis couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “I won’t have anything to compare it to, will I?”

“Well, you will. Strictly speaking.”

“Don’t be daft. It’s not important. End of discussion. Come on.” Lewis led the way to the bathroom. “I’ve got an extra toothbrush somewhere.” He dug around in the drawers until he found it. Kept on-hand in case Lyn or Tom decided to visit.

“Thank you, sir,” James said, taking the toothbrush.

He’d said it on purpose. Lewis let it go. There was no changing the ‘sir’. He sighed. Hathaway understood and smiled.

“I’ll leave you to it. Need anything else?”

“I don’t think so.”

Lewis shut the door behind him. Honestly. What had he got himself into? Why did James even like him? Any number of women found James attractive — even Laura! She thought he was a nine! Yet he wanted someone who was months away from being a grandfather. There was no explaining love, if that’s what it was. The heart chooses, that’s what James had said to him once. Of course, if someone had told him he’d become fond of Hathaway’s horsey face and gangly limbs, he’d never have believed it. But he liked everything. Liked his unruly, pale hair, always cut close or plastered down. His sloping walk. The way he put his hands in his pockets when he was listening to someone, as if to anchor himself in place and not miss a word.

In his bedroom, Lewis took off his shirt and threw it in the laundry basket. Gazed down at his t-shirt. Change it? Yes. He pulled it off and replaced it with a clean one. Removed his shoes and socks. Trousers? Had to. But then he’d be parading around in his boxers, and it made him suddenly nervous. The bathroom door opened, and a moment later James appeared in the bedroom.

Lewis recalled his wedding night. Nervous then, too.

He delayed the trousers decision, and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. And floss. And look critically at himself in the mirror. He spent more time than was necessary on these tasks. When he returned to the bedroom, James was sitting on Val’s side of the bed, bare-chested, blankets gathered round his waist, reading the book that had been on the bedside table, a history of Florence that Lyn had sent. Lewis found it a bit dull, but Hathaway was so absorbed he didn’t look up.

Relieved, Lewis pulled his belt from his trousers, hung it up, took off the trousers, and tossed them into the basket. In just his boxers and t-shirt, he approached his bed and climbed in on his side. Hathaway continued to read.

“How did you know which was my side?”

“Pillow. Smelled like you.” Hathaway set the book on the floor, showing Lewis his bony spine and purple boxers.

It was strange to have someone suddenly so familiar. It had been ages before he and Val had felt comfortable around one another. Generation gap? James was so casually half-naked in his bed. Lewis wanted to reach out and touch. Wasn’t sure if he should. James settled beside him. Should he turn off the lamp? Or would that send the wrong message? Oh, to hell with it. He turned onto his side, and reached for James, who was close, who fit into his arms. Warm skin under his hand. Warm mouth under his mouth. Faint smell of cigarettes. Toothpaste. They moved awkwardly, elbows and hands trying to find their places, until James pushed Lewis onto his back and climbed on top of him, pressing their groins together. Lewis found his hands rubbing James’s back, surprised himself by sliding them under the elastic of James’s boxers to grab at his arse. That made James moan into his mouth and grind against him.

“I’d call that untoward,” Lewis managed to say, trying to get air into his lungs.

“I’ve been known to lie.” Hathaway stilled and looked at Lewis steadily. “Are you all right, sir?”

“Better than all right. Couldn’t you tell?”

“I suspected,” Hathaway said, sitting up, straddling Lewis’s waist. He took hold of Lewis’s t-shirt and tugged.

Lewis manoeuvred to remove the shirt. Not easy. He wasn’t as young as he used to be — nothing to be done about that — nor was he accustomed to this quick shedding of clothing and Hathaway’s seeming disregard for his state of undress. James had got off him and chucked his boxers to the floor. Naked now, his coltish body on display, all pale lines, cock jutting out eagerly. He was beautiful. Not something Lewis had thought a lot about, the male body. But there it was. Good thing he’d left the lamp on. James silently slid two fingers under the elastic of Lewis’s boxers. Lewis hesitated only a moment before pushing them down over his hips and kicking them to the bottom of the bed.

They both stilled. And looked. Lewis tried not to think about that bit of weight he’d put on. Didn’t have to try very hard. The way James was looking at him. Hungry and fond. Maybe they felt the same. It was frightening and erotic at the same time to have someone look at you like they wanted to dive into you and never come out again.

His hands didn’t know what to do. Things that should have been familiar were different on someone else’s body. James’s cock felt strange, like some kind of animal thrusting in his fist. Hard to find the right grip, the right rhythm. Wanted to do more, but he wasn’t sure of himself. Didn’t know if he’d even got this right except for the sounds James was making, his messy kisses, and the lightly breathed “Sir” as he came.

“You’re lovely, do you know?” Lewis said softly in James’s ear as he held him close. It was a lucky thing, he thought, that Hathaway had come along when he had. Lewis’s younger self had had stricter notions of who he was, and how life and love were supposed to be. Age did that — opened your mind in some ways, even if people generally held the reverse to be true. Maybe it was that, as you got older, you didn’t take so much for granted, like that the people you loved would always be by you. Hard to change your ways, even so. Fortunate that James was a bit pushy.

James didn’t answer, just leant close, catching his breath, weaving his fingers with Lewis’s. Light kisses on his jaw, his mouth, neck. Collarbone. Sternum. Bones he hadn’t known till he was a copper and had to look at the dead. Lower still. Stomach. Lewis tensed, suddenly cognisant of where Hathaway was going. He couldn’t — but Hathaway was there already, his fingers closing around the base, mouth taking in the head. Lewis was seized by embarrassment, he didn’t know why. It was normal, wasn’t it? This was how it was supposed to go. Two men. Val hadn’t cared much for this. Didn’t like the taste — her face, he remembered. Always uncomfortable doing it. Too one-sided, maybe? They’d never really discussed it.

But James looked like he was enjoying himself, almost smiling, gazing up at Lewis to see his reaction, opening his mouth to tongue the slit, trace a path along the ridge. It felt fantastic. Lewis could hardly breathe. Looking at James was too much. He closed his eyes and gave in to the pleasure of it, gave in to the galloping of his heart and the loss of his hearing and sight as all sensation focussed on his centre, that one point. Vibrations from noises Hathaway was making. His fingers, pressing, sliding. Lewis wondered if he was dying — possible. His insides coiled tight, his breath hitched, and he came.

Lewis felt Hathaway flop down beside him, felt him press the length of his body close. He opened his eyes. Wasn’t sure what to say. What did you say? Felt again like he was on his honeymoon. First morning after. But it wasn’t morning yet. Maybe he didn’t need to say anything. Sleepy. James pressing lips to his neck. Kissy, he was. Lewis turned to look at him. He hadn’t changed. Looked just the same — a bit hopeful, young. Sleepy, too. Lewis stroked a thumb across his cheek. Kissed his mouth before reaching to turn off the lamp. They lay side by side, silent for a few minutes. The world was growing fuzzy, fading.

“I never told you why I left seminary,” Hathaway said suddenly.

Lewis woke up a bit. “Because of your friend. Will, was it?”

“It was more than that. I fell in love. With a priest.”

Of course that was the reason. By now Lewis knew that Hathaway tended to fall quite thoroughly when he fell for someone. In the years they’d known one another, it had never worked out.

“It was, as you can imagine, unrequited. And confusing. I hated myself. I hated God.”

Lewis couldn’t imagine who would turn James away. Well, he could, and he didn’t much care for them. A priest was logical, he supposed. If anyone. Still. In the darkness, he took Hathaway’s hand. Kissed the fingers.

“Think what you like about God, but I hope you’ve got over hating yourself.”

“Mm,” Hathaway said noncommittally. “Less confused,” he added after a moment.

“Good.” Lewis kept hold of Hathaway’s hand in the ensuing silence, as he descended into sleep.

‘ ’ 

It was barely light. Something had woken Lewis. Maybe Hathaway moving beside him. Not used to that. But he’d slept well. Not used to that either. He could just make out Hathaway’s sleeping form. He lay on his side, one arm curled on the pillow, the other furled out. Lewis smiled and got out of bed as noiselessly as he could. No sense lying there. He’d never fall back to sleep. The clock told him it was five o’clock. Plenty of time before they had to be at work.

Boxers nowhere in sight. T-shirt on the floor. More things he wasn’t used to. He put on a dressing gown, padded to the bathroom, peed, examined his face in the mirror. Purple spot on his neck. Shirt collar would hide it, thank heaven. The last thing he needed was Innocent or Laura spying it. Laura. He sighed.

Showered and dressed, he sat down to cereal and the newspaper. Hathaway still not awake. No wonder. Quite energetic, he’d been. The memory made heat rush to his face. Mustn’t think about it today. Someone might notice he was acting odd. Laura especially.

The sound of a door closing alerted him that Hathaway was awake. Toilet flushing. Water running. Strange to hear those sounds again when it wasn’t him making them. Hathaway appeared a moment later, clad only in boxers, still sleepy-faced, his hair sticking out in all directions. His sloping walk. Thin as a rail, but his slouch made his belly round out a bit. Endearing. He came to a stop beside Lewis’s chair.

“Morning.” It felt both ordinary and not to have James standing there. Lewis placed a hand on James’s bare side and gave him an affectionate rub. “You slept well.”

“Did you?” Hathaway asked. He put his hand on top of Lewis’s and held it in place.

“Yeah.” Belly right there. Light line of golden hair. Lewis liked the looks of it and leant in to kiss the trail. Heard James’s sharp breath. Liked that, did he? Lewis kissed him again, just above the elastic of his boxers. Pressed his cheek to the skin.

Hathaway’s hands came up to cradle his head. They stayed like that for a long minute. Peaceful being like this. Could get used to it.

“Want a cuppa?” Lewis asked, forcing himself to pull away, finally. He stood.

Hathaway didn’t answer. Leant to kiss Lewis instead, mouth open, tasting of toothpaste. “I don’t want to work.”

“Needs must.” It had been years since Lewis had wanted to skive off work for a reason other than moping about, feeling sorry for himself. He moved to the sink, filled the kettle, and set it to boil. The moment he’d done so, Hathaway’s hands were on him again. Mouth, too. Now that he had permission, it seemed he wanted to take full advantage. Lewis wondered how many times he’d held back before.

Their kiss grew more heated. Neither of them wanted to stop, it seemed. Lewis heard the click of the electric kettle telling him the water was done. He ignored it. James’s face was scratchy with stubble. Something vulnerable about him like this, standing in the kitchen with barely a stitch on. Smooth skin of his back. The warm smell of him. The focussed yet relaxed expression on his face. He took one of Lewis’s hands and moved it to the front of his boxers. Hard. Lewis was, too. Like being a teenager again. At his age!

Lewis ran his palm along the length of James’s hard-on. He’d caused that. Who would have thought? He didn’t feel he should be capable of such things. Once could have been a fluke. But twice? James pulled back a bit, but it was only to inch his boxers down over his cock. It appeared, pink and flushed and fully erect.

Lewis didn’t know if he’d ever get used to the sight. “Now?” he asked. “We’ve got to be at work.”

“There’s time,” Hathaway muttered in his ear, pushing up against him. “Please. Sir,” he added.

“We’re in the bloody kitchen!”

“Mm,” Hathaway agreed. “I don’t think anyone can see.”

“You don’t think —” Christ. He couldn’t. He was in his shirt and trousers! And tie! But when he glanced up at Hathaway’s open expression and the sheer longing on his face, he couldn’t say no. What had he got himself into? He took hold of James’s cock, moving his fist up and down, watching the foreskin hide the head, then reveal it. His own was the same, but he’d never looked at it in quite this way.

James took a step back, leaning against the worktop. Lewis stepped forward, keeping his hold. He rubbed his thumb in the liquid leaking from James’s cock. He’d never — well, why would he have? His heart sped up. Thump, thump, thump. Carefully, he got down on his knees. Hands on James’s thighs. He smoothed his palms over them, liking the feel of muscle, short hairs. Looked up. Hathaway was gazing down at him, rapt. His cock stood straight up, almost flat against his belly. He took it in hand and gently guided it downward, brushing the tip of it against Lewis’s cheek. Lewis turned his head to kiss it. A light kiss. Almost nothing. Thump, thump, thump. He opened his mouth. Let James guide the head of his cock between his lips. Felt it on his tongue. Soft and hard at the same time. He’d known, of course, but this was different. The taste, a bit salty. You could know things as fact, but it was something else when you actually experienced them. James’s scent, different here, not cigarettes and cologne, just him. Lewis sucked lightly, ran his tongue along the fold of skin, the ridge, the slit, getting to know them.

James continued to hold onto his cock, but now he slid his fingers down his length and inserted them into Lewis’s mouth. Lewis sucked on them, licked the ridges of James’s fingernails, the blunt tips. Fancied he could feel the whorls of his fingerprints. To know someone that well — so well you knew their fingerprints — the thought filled him with desire. He understood now why James had seemed happy to do this. James moved his wetted fingers up and down his shaft with a light grip, all the while watching what Lewis was doing.

Lewis followed James’s lead as he sped up the movements of his hand. He’d been focussing on the head of James’s cock, but now he took more of it in, so that his lips sometimes collided with James’s fingers. James made a soft noise, and that was the only warning before he came, spurting into Lewis’s mouth and onto his chin. Instinctively, Lewis reached up to wipe his face with his hand, only then realising how tightly he’d been gripping James’s thighs. Pink marks remained where his hands had been. James didn’t seem to mind. His eyes were closed, and he took a few breaths before opening them again.

“Don’t call me sir, not after that.”

“Sir,” Hathaway said, sliding down to his knees and kissing Lewis messily, one hand curled in his shirt, the other reaching for his belt.

“Work,” Lewis reminded him, stilling his hand.

Hathaway made a sound of protest.

“One of us has to be mindful. Now get moving. I’ll still be here tonight.”

“Will you?” He leant to kiss Lewis again. And again.

“Yes,” Lewis said, exasperated. “What did you think?”

Hathaway smiled, clambered to his feet, and headed for the bathroom. Completely naked.

‘ ’ 

They were five minutes late to meet Laura. She hated anyone being late. Lewis looked at her apologetically, trying not to appear giddy. His insides felt bouncy and light.

Laura looked Hathaway up and down.

“You had a night, didn’t you?”

Hathaway gave her a questioning look. Of course, Lewis thought, Hathaway was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. They hadn’t had time to stop off for fresh ones. Nothing got past Laura, a fact Lewis usually appreciated, but not today. Laura didn’t clarify her question. She just smiled and folded the sheet back from Avery Little’s body. His hair had been shaved to reveal the trauma to his skull. It wasn’t pretty.

“Blunt end of a maul or an axe. A sledgehammer. Something in that family. I removed trace from the wound — a bit of red paint. Does that help you at all?”

Lewis shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll keep an eye out. Anything else?”

“That’s all.” Laura glanced at Hathaway, then looked back at Lewis. She lowered her voice. “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Lewis repeated, confused.

Laura gave him a meaningful look.

“Oh! Tomorrow.” Blimey, he’d agreed to have dinner with her. Probably best to do it. And say what to her? I’ve taken up with Hathaway? “Right. Eight, is it?”

She nodded. He nodded back, giving her a small smile, before turning to go.

In the corridor, Hathaway was silent. He was silent in the car park. He was silent as they got into Lewis’s car.

“Sir,” he said, finally, after they’d buckled their seat belts.

“I know what you’re going to —”

Hathaway cut him off. “I didn’t mean to — you and Dr Hobson… It’s only that I thought —

“Don’t give me that. You knew what you were doing. And so did I.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Lewis said. And he was, even if he sounded put out. Life hadn’t used to be so complicated. “But I’ve got to talk to her sometime, haven’t I? She’s me friend.” Lewis stared out the front windscreen, as if the view outside held answers.

“Are you going to tell her?”

“At least — something. I’m seeing someone. Even if I don’t tell her it’s you. I can’t very well lie to her.”

“No. You wouldn’t do that.”

Lewis looked over at Hathaway. He didn’t like to see him in pain, or worried. “Just because it didn’t cross me mind before — you, I mean — I’m happy.” He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say.

Hathaway seemed to understand his meaning. “If we weren’t in the car park, I’d kiss you,” he said, sounding relieved.

Lewis turned the key in the ignition. “I know,” he said, because he felt the same.

‘ ’ 

Avery Little’s landlord, Simon Bellamy, turned out to live in the flat above Little’s. Lewis and Hathaway climbed the stairs, and Hathaway rang the bell. They waited. Just as Hathaway was reaching to press the bell again, the door opened, revealing a pretty woman in a blue dressing gown.

“Yes?” She tucked a lock of tousled hair behind her ear, looking Hathaway up and down.

“Inspector Lewis, ma’am. And this is Sergeant Hathaway. We’re looking for Simon Bellamy.”

“Has he done something wrong?”

“Is he — your husband?”

“Yes. Can I help you instead?” She smiled, directing her question at Hathaway, looking him over again.

Lewis bristled inwardly. He’d never minded all the female attention going to Hathaway before — he’d got used to that as he’d grown older — but this was different. He resisted the urge to step closer to Hathaway. Hathaway looked unfazed, bless him. Lewis was suddenly flooded with affection for his sergeant.

“Did you know your tenant, Avery Little, is dead?” Hathaway asked.

Mrs Bellamy gasped audibly. “No. When did this happen? Here? Is he — not downstairs?”

“No ma’am,” Lewis reassured. “When did you last see him?”

“I can’t think,” Mrs Bellamy said, clutching at her hair. “He’s —”

“Lydia!” a man shouted from somewhere out of sight. “Get in here.”

Lewis craned his neck a bit, but couldn’t see a thing.

“Just a minute,” Mrs Bellamy called out.

“We’d like to speak to Mr Bellamy. If we could,” Lewis reminded her.

At that moment, Mr Bellamy appeared, pulling on a shirt with the Oxfordshire Fire & Rescue logo sewn on the front. “Who are you?”

Lewis glanced at Hathaway, wondering if he was thinking the same thing. A fireman. Firemen used axes with red paint. The criminal element weren’t the sharpest knives in the drawer.

“We need you to come down to the station with us, Mr Bellamy. For questioning,” Hathaway said.

‘ ’ 

Well, that was that, Lewis thought as he drove Hathaway home at the end of the day. The psychic had been right! Mrs Bellamy had taken an interest in Avery Little. Avery Little had taken an interest in someone else. Mrs Bellamy had continued to throw herself at Little, and her husband had been jealous. Lewis wouldn’t have liked to be Mrs Bellamy, husband treating her like a possession, nor Mr Bellamy, always thinking his wife was taking up with another man. But years on the job had taught him some people liked it that way. To each his own, he supposed. It was human frailty, wasn’t it? Wanting to keep hold of the person you loved. Like Hathaway fretting that morning. Or how he’d chafed at Mrs Bellamy giving Hathaway the eye.

But they were a good team, he thought. Not like the Bellamys. More equal. He and Hathaway belonged to each other, didn’t they? The way he’d been Val’s, and she’d been his. Was that love? This far along in life, and he still didn’t know. Is that what Hathaway would call it? Love? He let the thought go as he pulled up outside Hathaway’s flat.

He kept the engine running, unsure of what to do. He dreaded the return to his empty flat, but he and Hathaway had been together all day. And the previous night. Hathaway might want some time to himself.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Hathaway leant in to kiss Lewis’s mouth. Once. Again.

Lewis glanced out the window to check if they’d been seen. “You’ll get sick of me yet.”

“Never. I could cook you dinner.”

Lewis studied Hathaway’s long legs, his no longer freshly pressed shirt, his hand braced on the car seat, the slight wrinkle in his brow as he waited for an answer. Lewis felt young and happy. It was odd. But nice. “As long as it’s not eel sushi,” he said.

‘ ’ 

Lewis sliced carrots, following Hathaway’s instructions. It had been ages since he’d cooked anything this complicated. Maybe if he’d kept up that garden plot. Marrows, he’d wanted. He’d probably never have cooked them on his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hathaway mixing up some kind of sauce. He’d changed into a t-shirt and jeans. They made him look younger, more relaxed. Lewis set down his knife.

Hathaway looked up. “Done?”

“Nearly,” Lewis said. “Who taught you to cook?”

Hathaway shrugged. Lewis knew that look. Didn’t want to talk about it. Something to do with his parents, then.

“Val wasn’t much of a cook. Do you know she used to make me cheese and pickle sandwiches for dinner?”

“What kind of cheese?”

“Cheddar.”

Hathaway’s face said it all. Lewis smiled. Laid a hand at the small of his back. Hathaway let go of the whisk and kissed him. He really was lovely, Lewis thought. Eyes sometimes the colour of coffee when you added the tiniest bit of cream. The taste of him. The scratchiness of his jaw. His mind, always quoting poets Lewis didn’t know. Everything. It could all be lost in an instant. He didn’t like the thought of anything happening to James, anything bad at all. He wanted to go back and fix the things that already had happened, no matter how long ago. His kids had had real childhoods. He suspected James had not.

“Sir?” Hathaway said, breaking the kiss.

Lewis shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Not nothing.” Hathaway held him still, one hand at his waist, the other coming up to his face, thumb pressing lightly against his lower lip. Then his mouth replaced his thumb. “It’s not nothing,” Hathaway repeated, giving Lewis a final kiss before turning back to what he’d been doing. “I can finish. Everything’s about ready to throw in the wok.” He gave Lewis the tiniest shove towards the sofa.

Lewis took the hint, sitting with his beer, idly scanning the mess of papers on the coffee table. His eye recognised the words on one of the sheets. His poem. In James’s handwriting, with words crossed out, others written in their places.

sometimes  
’ ~~replaces~~ steps in for  
what’s missing

‘ likes things said  
just so

sometimes  
’ ~~says~~ tells the world:  
you belong to me

Lewis smiled. Hathaway’s penmanship was terrible. He’d learnt to read it over the years, but it had taken some effort. Chicken scratches. He touched the pages gently. It was true. Hathaway had stepped in to fill the empty spaces in Lewis’s life. He’d said, “You belong to me,” clear as day.

Hathaway called out from the kitchen. “Don’t read those.”

“It’s my poem.” Lewis stood up, still holding one of the papers, and wandered towards Hathaway. Dinner smelled nice, and he liked the way Hathaway looked, moving about the kitchen. Lewis came up behind him. Pressed close. James leant into him.

Hathaway nodded towards the paper. “That’s before I had it how I wanted it.”

Lewis kissed the nape of his neck. Slid one arm around him. In the other hand, he held the poem. “I figured it out, the riddle.”

“What riddle?”

“The poem. I was right. You’re the apostrophe.”

James pulled away slightly, continuing to stir the vegetables in the pan. “No, you are.”

“I am?”

“I’m the left quotation mark. Or it could be a glottal stop, if you like. Either way: I like things said just so.”

What the hell was a glottal stop? Lewis sighed, looking at the chicken scratches again. Poems. He’d never understand them. Usually didn’t even care for them. But this one, he liked.

 

_the end_


End file.
